I never have any idea how much any thing costs. Well, maybe not anything - I suspect I’d do okay on the Price is Right where maybe they guess grocery items. For me, the wheels fall off the bus when you have to guess bigger ticket items like a car.
When we began looking at houses 6 years ago, I exclaimed that I was NOT spending more than a very specific amount. Although Andrea knew I was delusional, she didn’t point that out but waited for me to realize this on my own. Which I did when we purchased our home for $40k more than my imaginary home. To this day, the cost of anything related to our home surprises me. I also hate getting estimates because there is often an invisible, yet seemingly inevitable, “you don’t have penis” surcharge. Or maybe people assume we can’t afford things because the state of our backyard right now is ghetto fabulous. On Friday morning, I walked someone through the yard urgently saying, “Watch out for the dog shit!” Which probably conveys what a classy broad I am. I’m caring AND classy. He kept telling me how much work it would be to get cement decking around the pool and all the work he’d have to do. I wanted to ask, “Well yeah - isn’t this your business?” But I kept my mouth shut, wishing he would just leave, when he whipped out his iPhone and showed me a video. “Here’s a video of a job I just completed.” He said - thrusting the phone towards my farsighted eyes. “Very nice.” I replied. “That’s a twenty-five thousand dollar job.” I hold his gaze, unflinching and think to myself, either those people paid too much or the lack-of-penis surcharge is in full effect. Maybe both? Instead, I walk him to the front while he clucks over our front steps and acts like it would take an act of God or, at the very least, a backhoe to remove them. I feel like saying, “Get the fuck out of here.” But instead I tell him it was nice to meet him. Andrea scoops up the aforementioned dog shit and I secretly hope the lack-of-penis surcharge guy stepped in some in spite of my warnings to him. A steady stream of men tromps through our yard on Saturday to gives us estimates on shed and brush removal, site prep for the new shed, new front steps. A guy who seems to care a less about our lack of penises stops by and absentmindedly scratches Wrigley on the head while telling me he can reface our steps. I want to phone the LOP-surcharge guy and say, “Take that!” He observes our new siding and Wrigley and I decide we approve of him. Which is great because I was going to hire someone with a penis to stand around, looking macho and heterosexual, while I continued obtaining estimates. Instead, this guy sends me an estimate today. This tells me he’s on my timeline - which I hear not many people are. So says Andrea. I’d like to point out that I’ve relaxed my timeline standards over the years. Mainly, so Andrea doesn’t leave me. Not that I think she would - I’m entertaining. Just today she remarked, “...the conversations we have around here. They’re unique.” That was after I pointed out that cats don’t have butt cheeks. “Is this what being married is like? You talk about cat butt cheeks?!” Andrea mused. Well. Yes. If you’re married to the right person you do.
